Monday, 11 February 2008
Thanks For Sharing
I've started a new blog: www.thanksforsharing-lukas.blogspot.com. Not travel notes--not anything in particular, really! Perhaps you'll enjoy.
Sunday, 10 February 2008
One Year Later, or Why I'm Bothering With This Right Now
Hi!
My friend Ronckytonk inadvertently inspired me to return to my blog. But more on that later.
Yes, my Dogsitting In London trip came to an end a year ago and I look back so fondly on that trip and I'm now in the throes of a Toxic Grind and the number of exciting things happening to me right now is probably a lot less than yours, but all that this means is that I've got more time to sit here and pontificate than I ever thought possible and it is making me antsy. My long-held mantra, "Just because you have an opinion doesn't mean you get to share it," has often discouraged me from writing anything for public consumption, however narrow a slice of the public that may be. But in the interest of my blossoming boredom and the fact that it is cold and windy outside and I'm feeling the urge to share, I think I'll dust off my keyboard, flex my fingers, and just dig in.
This dumb blog caused me a lot of anguish last year: I was writing out of a sense of obligation, for a pretty vast cross section of my friends and family, and it's hard to write something that will be interesting and true (enough) to self for everyone in your audience, even if that audience is only eight people. There was no end to the snarky comments I'd have made if I were reading it. Thus I mostly wrote posts after I got drunk.
So I'm going to come out from the start here to state that this blog, "Thanks for Sharing, née Dogsitting in London," should I ever again write another post, will not in any way be a focused one. There will be a lot of unsolicited opinion sharing, posts about food, books, Rickie Lee Jones, gay things, stuff I like and stuff I hate, and other random events that give me pause.
Because that's what my friend Ronckytonk (minus the food and RLJ and gay things part) has been doing on her blog, which is so fun to read. Clearly, one reason it's so good is because of the writing (she's FUNNY!!!), but it's also unfiltered and true and not even for a fingernail clipping is it posing. And THAT is refreshing to me. Because she likes stuff and she likes her friends and she likes herself, and how often do I read about happy things on blogs? Not very often. And you probably won't see a lot here. I like vitriol, too, and I'm admittedly not as full of goodness as Ronckytonk. But I'm going to copy some of that goodness and will be sure to include more things that I do like than things I don't. For instance, I vow, here and now, that if I keep up this blog, I will write profiles of my friends. Because I like them all a lot and they should know that.
But for now, while we're on the topic of Ronckytonk, I saw her last night. OK, first I should say that in a couple days I'll be 26 years old and that I live in New York and that though I consider myself pretty active out in the city and I like to drink and I like to socialize, I have never been much for "going out" on the weekends. There was a time when gay bars seemed fresh and exciting. I don't think I ever did a ton of gaying, but if I were to go out on a weekend to a bar it would most likely be to a gay bar. With straight friends, I just don't stay out late unless they're having me over for dinner or something. Who am i kidding, I never stay out late. Anyway, Ronkytonk is in town and after she saw an embarrassing show, we were going to meet up for a drink. For some idiotic reason I understood this to be a challenge to find something fun to do in New York on a Saturday night, and I actually anguished over it for about fourteen minutes--it made me feel really old! I couldn't remember the last time that I "went out" on a weekend, and particularly into Manhattan, and I don't even know what's supposed to be fun, because I never had any fun myself so I always took other people's word for what was "good" and what was not, and plus I'm not a fun person so I shouldn't be saddled with this responsibility--and finally settled on a bar I knew. I got to the bar early to find it packed solid with lots of people my age but who looked a lot younger: lots of blond hair and cumbersome heels, flipped up collars and those goddamn fedoras, and then outside there was some very involved hailing of cabs and bumming of cigarettes and the disinterested yet intimidating bouncer presided over it all, and I stood inside for about ten seconds before realizing that I'd die if I had to stay, so I waited out in the rain for them to show up instead. It's not that I condone these types of bars--not just because they're not gay, because Holy Jesus there are annoying gay bars out there--but they are for a certain segment of New York that is of a certain age and has a certain notion of what is fun and what is not and they all also have a certain (not gay) agenda that doesn't prefigure me, and so it's best for me to just leave these folks alone. (Though for the record I continue to be baffled that anyone enjoys standing around in a claustrophobic space that is so loud you can't carry on a conversation. I'm old at heart, I guess. Middle-aged women love me.)
So it's funny that I forgot I was dealing with people five to ten years older than me. Everyone dismissed that bar immediately and we went to a nice, roomy restaurant on Bleeker Street, where we had space to lay out our wet coats, a waitress to play messenger to the bar, a line-free restroom, no loud music to battle with, snacks, and good margaritas. Ronckytonk and I reenacted moves we learned in pilates, capoeira, and West African dance classes (basically it was all one move because we spent each session laughing too much to pay attention. We always thought we'd be split up). It's kind of ridiculous that I found this night to be such a novel thing, but it was really fun! I guess I do the same thing with friends who I see on a regular basis all the time, but it was supremely fun to do it with a friend I hadn't seen in forever and to also meet new people.
But like I said, I just don't really go out anymore. I've spent most of the past few Saturday nights making vegetable stock.
My friend Ronckytonk inadvertently inspired me to return to my blog. But more on that later.
Yes, my Dogsitting In London trip came to an end a year ago and I look back so fondly on that trip and I'm now in the throes of a Toxic Grind and the number of exciting things happening to me right now is probably a lot less than yours, but all that this means is that I've got more time to sit here and pontificate than I ever thought possible and it is making me antsy. My long-held mantra, "Just because you have an opinion doesn't mean you get to share it," has often discouraged me from writing anything for public consumption, however narrow a slice of the public that may be. But in the interest of my blossoming boredom and the fact that it is cold and windy outside and I'm feeling the urge to share, I think I'll dust off my keyboard, flex my fingers, and just dig in.
This dumb blog caused me a lot of anguish last year: I was writing out of a sense of obligation, for a pretty vast cross section of my friends and family, and it's hard to write something that will be interesting and true (enough) to self for everyone in your audience, even if that audience is only eight people. There was no end to the snarky comments I'd have made if I were reading it. Thus I mostly wrote posts after I got drunk.
So I'm going to come out from the start here to state that this blog, "Thanks for Sharing, née Dogsitting in London," should I ever again write another post, will not in any way be a focused one. There will be a lot of unsolicited opinion sharing, posts about food, books, Rickie Lee Jones, gay things, stuff I like and stuff I hate, and other random events that give me pause.
Because that's what my friend Ronckytonk (minus the food and RLJ and gay things part) has been doing on her blog, which is so fun to read. Clearly, one reason it's so good is because of the writing (she's FUNNY!!!), but it's also unfiltered and true and not even for a fingernail clipping is it posing. And THAT is refreshing to me. Because she likes stuff and she likes her friends and she likes herself, and how often do I read about happy things on blogs? Not very often. And you probably won't see a lot here. I like vitriol, too, and I'm admittedly not as full of goodness as Ronckytonk. But I'm going to copy some of that goodness and will be sure to include more things that I do like than things I don't. For instance, I vow, here and now, that if I keep up this blog, I will write profiles of my friends. Because I like them all a lot and they should know that.
But for now, while we're on the topic of Ronckytonk, I saw her last night. OK, first I should say that in a couple days I'll be 26 years old and that I live in New York and that though I consider myself pretty active out in the city and I like to drink and I like to socialize, I have never been much for "going out" on the weekends. There was a time when gay bars seemed fresh and exciting. I don't think I ever did a ton of gaying, but if I were to go out on a weekend to a bar it would most likely be to a gay bar. With straight friends, I just don't stay out late unless they're having me over for dinner or something. Who am i kidding, I never stay out late. Anyway, Ronkytonk is in town and after she saw an embarrassing show, we were going to meet up for a drink. For some idiotic reason I understood this to be a challenge to find something fun to do in New York on a Saturday night, and I actually anguished over it for about fourteen minutes--it made me feel really old! I couldn't remember the last time that I "went out" on a weekend, and particularly into Manhattan, and I don't even know what's supposed to be fun, because I never had any fun myself so I always took other people's word for what was "good" and what was not, and plus I'm not a fun person so I shouldn't be saddled with this responsibility--and finally settled on a bar I knew. I got to the bar early to find it packed solid with lots of people my age but who looked a lot younger: lots of blond hair and cumbersome heels, flipped up collars and those goddamn fedoras, and then outside there was some very involved hailing of cabs and bumming of cigarettes and the disinterested yet intimidating bouncer presided over it all, and I stood inside for about ten seconds before realizing that I'd die if I had to stay, so I waited out in the rain for them to show up instead. It's not that I condone these types of bars--not just because they're not gay, because Holy Jesus there are annoying gay bars out there--but they are for a certain segment of New York that is of a certain age and has a certain notion of what is fun and what is not and they all also have a certain (not gay) agenda that doesn't prefigure me, and so it's best for me to just leave these folks alone. (Though for the record I continue to be baffled that anyone enjoys standing around in a claustrophobic space that is so loud you can't carry on a conversation. I'm old at heart, I guess. Middle-aged women love me.)
So it's funny that I forgot I was dealing with people five to ten years older than me. Everyone dismissed that bar immediately and we went to a nice, roomy restaurant on Bleeker Street, where we had space to lay out our wet coats, a waitress to play messenger to the bar, a line-free restroom, no loud music to battle with, snacks, and good margaritas. Ronckytonk and I reenacted moves we learned in pilates, capoeira, and West African dance classes (basically it was all one move because we spent each session laughing too much to pay attention. We always thought we'd be split up). It's kind of ridiculous that I found this night to be such a novel thing, but it was really fun! I guess I do the same thing with friends who I see on a regular basis all the time, but it was supremely fun to do it with a friend I hadn't seen in forever and to also meet new people.
But like I said, I just don't really go out anymore. I've spent most of the past few Saturday nights making vegetable stock.
Sunday, 25 February 2007
If I Made a Mixtape....
This is the soundtrack to the trip:
Ceremony, New Order
Nobody Knows My Name, Rickie Lee Jones
Grace Kelly, Mika
Here I Am, Emmylou Harris
The Knife, Grizzy Bear
Sweet Thing, Van Morrison
You & Your Strange Ways, Sleeping States
I Got It Bad and That Ain’t Good, Esther Phillips
River Man (N Drake), Brad Mehldau
Amor mio, si muero y tú no mueres, Lorraine Hunt Lieberson
Music for 18 Musicians, #14, Steve Reich
Harvest Moon, Cassandra Wilson (on YouTube, really remarkable)
Paris IV
I'm sad to say that I can now count my remaining full days in Europe on one hand. I would have thought that the trip would have flown by, but it doesn't feel that way at all. I can imagine that if I were in New York, the same amount of time would have gone so fast I’d not have noticed it—I hear that it has been cold? Gosh, it’s been quite warm Paris.
It was nice to have Andrew here--he left last Wednesday. Paris is really not that big of a city; while we were walking around we discovered that every day we unexpectedly ended up somewhere we’d been a day or two before. One day we went to the Luxembourg Gardens, I looked up the rue, saw a grand-looking structure, and said, "Should we go look at that?" We decided against it. The next day we set out for the Pantheon and when we got there found ourselves looking in the other direction down the rue at the Luxembourg Gardens. We had some good meals and a lot of crepes. I managed to make chicken stock from a left over roasted chicken I bought one night, and the next day for lunch I made a successful caramelized leek risotto. (Stay tuned: I've been on a risotto kick ever since.) We saw a fun movie called "Paris, je t'aime" one night. Unfortunately Andrew got food poisoning from some shady Chinese food he insisted on eating and was ill for most of his last day here. But he's home safely now.
I went to the Picasso Museum on Wednesday, which was pretty fantastic. Thursday I went to the Père Lachaise Cemetery and saw the tombstones of Jim Morrison, Oscar Wilde, Isadora Duncan, Chopin (ok, I couldn't find Chopin, but I must have been really close), and others. It was darkly funny, trying to find Jim Morrison’s grave, which is completely tucked away and hard to find; there was a crew of us going up and down the isles of the section where he was supposed to be, and when someone finally found it, he shouted "Ici!" and we all rushed to gather round and stood there very awkwardly; it was definitely anticlimactic. Friday I had expected to go to the Musée d'Orangerie to see the Water Lilies, but the line was a mile long and so I opted for the Musée Rodin instead, which was very nice. Yesterday I went out on a mission for the perfect wooden spoon, which I found, along with a battery-operated scale I'd been thinking about for a while. I wandered around the Île St-Louis, where I found some lovely olive oil and truffle oil, and the Marais and les Halles. This morning I got myself out of bed by 9:00--this has only happened once or twice while I've been here--and went to the market at the Bastille, where I bought some wonderful cheese, fougasse olive bread, and amazing fluer de sel.
When I haven't been sightseeing or shopping I've been cooking and thinking about food. I just love shopping for food here. I will sorely, sorely miss the heaps of endive everywhere, and the cheese shops, and the baguettes--oh, man, the baguettes--and the thick asparagus spears... One could almost juice the asparagus, they're so succulent. I made a wonderful risotto with them last night. One day I found some amazing Basque bleu cheese, which I sprinkled over endive, and dressed with very expensive olive oil, a few grinds of black pepper, and a dash of fleur de sel. Amazing. I had the same thing for lunch today, except that I threw in the chilled leftover asparagus. I also made beef stroganov one night, which turned out pretty well.
I'm not sure how I'll spend my remaining days here..... I'm a little tired of museums. I hope to go to either Versailles or Rouen on Tuesday or Wednesday, and am even considering leaving for a night to visit Nice. We'll see.
It was nice to have Andrew here--he left last Wednesday. Paris is really not that big of a city; while we were walking around we discovered that every day we unexpectedly ended up somewhere we’d been a day or two before. One day we went to the Luxembourg Gardens, I looked up the rue, saw a grand-looking structure, and said, "Should we go look at that?" We decided against it. The next day we set out for the Pantheon and when we got there found ourselves looking in the other direction down the rue at the Luxembourg Gardens. We had some good meals and a lot of crepes. I managed to make chicken stock from a left over roasted chicken I bought one night, and the next day for lunch I made a successful caramelized leek risotto. (Stay tuned: I've been on a risotto kick ever since.) We saw a fun movie called "Paris, je t'aime" one night. Unfortunately Andrew got food poisoning from some shady Chinese food he insisted on eating and was ill for most of his last day here. But he's home safely now.
I went to the Picasso Museum on Wednesday, which was pretty fantastic. Thursday I went to the Père Lachaise Cemetery and saw the tombstones of Jim Morrison, Oscar Wilde, Isadora Duncan, Chopin (ok, I couldn't find Chopin, but I must have been really close), and others. It was darkly funny, trying to find Jim Morrison’s grave, which is completely tucked away and hard to find; there was a crew of us going up and down the isles of the section where he was supposed to be, and when someone finally found it, he shouted "Ici!" and we all rushed to gather round and stood there very awkwardly; it was definitely anticlimactic. Friday I had expected to go to the Musée d'Orangerie to see the Water Lilies, but the line was a mile long and so I opted for the Musée Rodin instead, which was very nice. Yesterday I went out on a mission for the perfect wooden spoon, which I found, along with a battery-operated scale I'd been thinking about for a while. I wandered around the Île St-Louis, where I found some lovely olive oil and truffle oil, and the Marais and les Halles. This morning I got myself out of bed by 9:00--this has only happened once or twice while I've been here--and went to the market at the Bastille, where I bought some wonderful cheese, fougasse olive bread, and amazing fluer de sel.
When I haven't been sightseeing or shopping I've been cooking and thinking about food. I just love shopping for food here. I will sorely, sorely miss the heaps of endive everywhere, and the cheese shops, and the baguettes--oh, man, the baguettes--and the thick asparagus spears... One could almost juice the asparagus, they're so succulent. I made a wonderful risotto with them last night. One day I found some amazing Basque bleu cheese, which I sprinkled over endive, and dressed with very expensive olive oil, a few grinds of black pepper, and a dash of fleur de sel. Amazing. I had the same thing for lunch today, except that I threw in the chilled leftover asparagus. I also made beef stroganov one night, which turned out pretty well.
I'm not sure how I'll spend my remaining days here..... I'm a little tired of museums. I hope to go to either Versailles or Rouen on Tuesday or Wednesday, and am even considering leaving for a night to visit Nice. We'll see.
Sunday, 18 February 2007
Paris III
So a busy few days and I've let too much time pass to sum it all up adequately.....
On Wednesday I finally made it to the Hergé exhibit at the Pompidou, which--though my understanding of Tintin and Snowy and all that Hergé stands for in Europe is extremely shallow--I really did enjoy. I think that Charles Schultz might be a good American counterpart, except that Tintin's European and historical context seems to make it a different kind of artifact.
That night I had dinner with my London friend Matthew, who took me out with some of his Paris friends to a very American restaurant; I ordered a hamburger. My French may have improved a bit then amongst the natives. This was Valentine's day, and on my way to the Metro I had an excellent view of the Eiffel Tower all lit up and sparkling.
Thursday I had my hotly anticipated cooking class with Paule (www.promenadesgourmandes.com). I was mistaken thinking it would be a private course; there were three other middleaged American women also participating (some things in my life will never change: I know that I'll always get along famously with middleaged American women). This was a major highlight of my trip. Paule is a very, very smart, enigmatic, talented, and entertaining instructor--someone needs to let her do a cooking show in the US. She took us on a tour of the market at the Bastille and we then went to her kitchen to make a four course lunch (delicious cream of califlower soup, twice-baked savoury soufleé, "nage de poisson," which is a kind of poached fish dish that included the best scallops I've ever tasted, and then tarte au chocolat. We also had a cheese tasting to get things going. The second half of the afternoon was spent on a gourmet walking tour: to a spice shop, a chocolate wholesaler, a cookware wholesaler, an amazing wine shop, and then actually into the kitchen of the Poiâne bakery (there was also a bit of sightseeing along the way). Here's a photo of our motley crew:
My pal Andrew arrived that night and will be staying for a few more days. We've been lounging around a bit, usually heading out for some sightseeing in the afternoons, which is bookended by a late lunch and dinner. On Friday we explored les Hallles and other parts of the 2nd, 3rd, 4th, and 9th arrondissments--we stopped inside the Eglise de St-Eustache, a cathedral modeled after Notre Dame but which I found almost more affecting because it was empty, and then made way to Shakespeare & Co. Saturday was an absolutely beautiful day and we climbed to the Sacre-Coeur (photos below). (Andrew is to the left, considering the view.)
That night we met up with Dilys and Tass, my hosts in London, who were in Paris for the day to see the Tintin exhibit, and had a delicious bottle of champagne.
Today was another gorgeous spring day and we went to the Champs Elyseés and explored around a bit until it became unbearable--it was a mob scene.
And at some point we decided to eat a crèpe and go home. At some point we'll have to eat dinner.
On Wednesday I finally made it to the Hergé exhibit at the Pompidou, which--though my understanding of Tintin and Snowy and all that Hergé stands for in Europe is extremely shallow--I really did enjoy. I think that Charles Schultz might be a good American counterpart, except that Tintin's European and historical context seems to make it a different kind of artifact.
That night I had dinner with my London friend Matthew, who took me out with some of his Paris friends to a very American restaurant; I ordered a hamburger. My French may have improved a bit then amongst the natives. This was Valentine's day, and on my way to the Metro I had an excellent view of the Eiffel Tower all lit up and sparkling.
Thursday I had my hotly anticipated cooking class with Paule (www.promenadesgourmandes.com). I was mistaken thinking it would be a private course; there were three other middleaged American women also participating (some things in my life will never change: I know that I'll always get along famously with middleaged American women). This was a major highlight of my trip. Paule is a very, very smart, enigmatic, talented, and entertaining instructor--someone needs to let her do a cooking show in the US. She took us on a tour of the market at the Bastille and we then went to her kitchen to make a four course lunch (delicious cream of califlower soup, twice-baked savoury soufleé, "nage de poisson," which is a kind of poached fish dish that included the best scallops I've ever tasted, and then tarte au chocolat. We also had a cheese tasting to get things going. The second half of the afternoon was spent on a gourmet walking tour: to a spice shop, a chocolate wholesaler, a cookware wholesaler, an amazing wine shop, and then actually into the kitchen of the Poiâne bakery (there was also a bit of sightseeing along the way). Here's a photo of our motley crew:
My pal Andrew arrived that night and will be staying for a few more days. We've been lounging around a bit, usually heading out for some sightseeing in the afternoons, which is bookended by a late lunch and dinner. On Friday we explored les Hallles and other parts of the 2nd, 3rd, 4th, and 9th arrondissments--we stopped inside the Eglise de St-Eustache, a cathedral modeled after Notre Dame but which I found almost more affecting because it was empty, and then made way to Shakespeare & Co. Saturday was an absolutely beautiful day and we climbed to the Sacre-Coeur (photos below). (Andrew is to the left, considering the view.)
That night we met up with Dilys and Tass, my hosts in London, who were in Paris for the day to see the Tintin exhibit, and had a delicious bottle of champagne.
Today was another gorgeous spring day and we went to the Champs Elyseés and explored around a bit until it became unbearable--it was a mob scene.
And at some point we decided to eat a crèpe and go home. At some point we'll have to eat dinner.
Tuesday, 13 February 2007
Paris II
I managed to "stumble" upon the Notre Dame cathedral. I was very, very impressed. There was a choir rehearsing and I sat there for over an hour listening to them. Unbelieveably gorgeous, absolutely wonderful, save all the camera flashes (what do people do with all their pictures of the Notre Dame when they get home?). I also explored the Ile de la Cité--found many, many beautiful things to admire--and then crossed the Pont Neuf and sort of grazed through the Champs-Elysées. I was at that point very hungy and with sore feet, so I wasn't very diligent about soaking it all in, but I shall return. Here's another pic:
I spent a day exploring the Marais, which I found to be mostly closed on a Sunday, and later ate the greatest baguette of my life. I came home and tried to make a fish dish that was decent, but the name of the fish was lost in translation and what I cooked wasnt' exactly what I was expecting. Monday was my birthday and I--well, my Dad--treated myself to a new pair of shoes from a really wonderful little shop in the Marais which my aforementioned friend Matthew had reccommended. I complained to the sales person of my sore feet and he told me that the shoes I was wearing were almost three sizes too small; these were the shoes that were giving me such grief in Barcelona and Venice. In any case, his parting words were, "Walk better!," and since then I've had no problems. My friend Linnea--who is a friend of Kathryn's from Mt. Holyoke--lives in Paris and invited me over for dinner that night; her boyfriend, who along with her and her other friends who were present had all recently graduated from Le Cordon Bleu, prepared one of the most memorable dinners of my life.... this porcini mushroom risotto was really something worth hurting yourself for. I thoroughly enjoyed myself. Here's a pic that was taken towards the end of the evening, obviously:
And at some point on Monday I had my first run-in with a really, REALLY rude French woman. I won't go into the details, but I want to mark it here as a kind of expunging so that I will stop dwelling on it.
And a great deal of today was spent recovering from last night's fun. I did manage to meet my friend Ilsa's friend Joe, who had all kinds of nuggets of advise regarding Paris and the French and who was also a pleasure to meet. I made some Indian for myself for dinner and am just about to go to bed.
Bonne nuit!
Friday, 9 February 2007
I Love Paris
I've just attempted a coq au vin that wasn't bad, but wasn't great either, and I've had a bottle of wine, and I'm eying my bed suspiciously, so I should probably reconsider this blog post, but in the current state I'll probalby go through with it.
I love Paris. No, I LOVE Paris. I desire Paris. I have an abnormal need for Paris. I want to be Paris.
I really, really, really like Parirs. I like to imagine that Paris has the same magnetic draw to me that I feel to it, even though I can also picture myself being the sucker going in for the kill. Regardless, the rest of my trip--I have exactly 23 days--will be devoted to figuring out how I can never, ever have to leave.
I arrived last night, via the Chunnel/Eurostar from London. A comfortable train ride and minimal problems getting to the apartment. I went to the grocery store and had cheese (sadly, it was kind of bad cheese) and bread (actually it was bad, too) and wine (no comment) for dinner (I bought it all at a nearby grocery store and now know where I can find the really good stuff) and then fell asleep.
My apartment is amazing. I'm renting one in the Montmarte, basically across the street from the ninth arrondissment. It has absolutely everything I need and ever want. I am, again, duly spoiled. Pictures:
The "Villa."
The parlour, with the kitchen behind.
The bedroom.
Today I explored the neighborhood, realizing that I'm a five minute hike from the Basilique Sacre-Couer, which offers amazing views of the city, and other sights in the 18th arrondissement, the Cemetiere de Montmarte, the Moulin Rouge, and other food attractions, etc. I got a wide range of propositions from the various sex shops, only bits of which I understood. I decided at some point late in the afternoon to make coq au vin for dinner, and I bought all my ingredients at a nearby open market.
As soon as I start taking pictures I will post them. Bonsoir!
I love Paris. No, I LOVE Paris. I desire Paris. I have an abnormal need for Paris. I want to be Paris.
I really, really, really like Parirs. I like to imagine that Paris has the same magnetic draw to me that I feel to it, even though I can also picture myself being the sucker going in for the kill. Regardless, the rest of my trip--I have exactly 23 days--will be devoted to figuring out how I can never, ever have to leave.
I arrived last night, via the Chunnel/Eurostar from London. A comfortable train ride and minimal problems getting to the apartment. I went to the grocery store and had cheese (sadly, it was kind of bad cheese) and bread (actually it was bad, too) and wine (no comment) for dinner (I bought it all at a nearby grocery store and now know where I can find the really good stuff) and then fell asleep.
My apartment is amazing. I'm renting one in the Montmarte, basically across the street from the ninth arrondissment. It has absolutely everything I need and ever want. I am, again, duly spoiled. Pictures:
The "Villa."
The parlour, with the kitchen behind.
The bedroom.
Today I explored the neighborhood, realizing that I'm a five minute hike from the Basilique Sacre-Couer, which offers amazing views of the city, and other sights in the 18th arrondissement, the Cemetiere de Montmarte, the Moulin Rouge, and other food attractions, etc. I got a wide range of propositions from the various sex shops, only bits of which I understood. I decided at some point late in the afternoon to make coq au vin for dinner, and I bought all my ingredients at a nearby open market.
As soon as I start taking pictures I will post them. Bonsoir!
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